Death in a Funhouse Mirror (28 page)

"None of your business," I snapped and retreated behind a wall of silence.

"What about Andre?" he said. "What's he done?"

"He's being a jerk. Now let's drop the subject."

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back, a disapproving look on his face. Ignoring him, I concentrated on my coffee. If it weren't for him and people like him who wanted to push me around and make me do things for them, my life would be a whole lot simpler and I might be less grumpy. I went back to brooding about my awful interview with Martha Coffey.

Dom snapped his fingers in front of my face. "Earth to Thea. Come in, please. Got any exciting things planned for the weekend?"

"Tonight a wedding rehearsal dinner, tomorrow a wedding, and on Sunday I'm having breakfast with you and then I'm going to bask in the sun for the rest of the day."

"Bad for your skin," he muttered. Now we were both in foul moods.

He was getting on my nerves. First he was fretting because I might not have enough to do, then he acted angry because I did have plans. What did he want from me, anyway? What was I doing here? "What's bad for my skin? Weddings? Or breakfast?"

"Shut up and tell me about your talk with Martha Coffey."

"Can't do both," I said. He gave me a look I knew well from Andre. It was the "stop being a smart-mouth broad and give me a little cooperation here" look. I didn't feel like cooperating. I felt like sulking. But the stuff she'd told me might be important. I took a sip of my watery drink-it-all-day-and-never-feel-a-thing American coffee and told him about my lunch with Martha Coffey. He sat impassively and listened, saying nothing, until I had finished.

"This case is like a maze. Every time we talk to someone, things get stranger instead of clearer. What do you make of the boyfriend?"

"Whose?" I said, repressing the urge to add Tonto's famous line, "What do you mean we, white man?"

"His."

"Unpredictable. Superficially kind and mild mannered. But preoccupied with Cliff and scathing in his criticism of Helene. If you're asking me did he kill her, I have no idea. He doesn't strike me as the murderous type, but I'm not sure there is a murderous type. He's accustomed to functioning on the edge of convention and making his own rules, because he has to, and if he wanted to possess Cliff, who knows what he'd do?"

"What about Paris?"

"I've been there. I like it. Great food."

"Thea..."

"I'm sorry. I've got a conflict. I like him. I've always liked him. I just can't imagine him doing something like that. He's got too much of those old-fashioned things like honor and dignity."

"Even if she was being unfaithful? Flagrantly, embarrassingly unfaithful? Even if he was desperate to be with Ansel?" I shook my head. "What if his lover was pressing him? What if he wanted a divorce and knew she'd refuse?"

"That's no reason to kill someone, Dom."

"Murder is rarely an act of reason. Passion, maybe. Confusion or desperation, but not reason."

"I'm working for him," I interrupted. "I wouldn't do that if I had the slightest doubt...."

He sighed. "Ah, youthful certainty."

"You can save remarks like that for the sweet young things, Dom. I'm not exactly a stranger to violent death. I just wish you'd solve this thing. Why haven't you? What do you think? Who did it?" I knew I wasn't going to get an answer but I was feeling smothered by the pressure on me. And it was his problem.

He just leaned back from the table and smiled.

I'd been hanging around cops long enough to know that smile. It was the 'you don't really think I'm going to answer that' smile. "Unfair," I said, knowing I sounded like a child. "Why should I share things with you if you won't share things with me?"

"I don't suppose you'd settle for 'that's just the way it is'? No, of course you wouldn't."

"Damned straight I wouldn't."

"I think you have a pretty good idea what we're facing," he said, and changed the subject. "Tell me about last night."

"I was in bed. Asleep. I heard noises outside...."

"What sort of noises?"

"Footsteps. Then scratching noises."

"What time?"

"Two-thirty, three. I'm not sure. I got up to see what it was. When I went into the living room, I could tell the sounds were coming from my deck. I have a fenced-in yard in back that goes down to the ocean. Big glass sliders out to the deck, and steps down to the lawn. I thought I saw a figure out there, so I switched on the lights. Whoever it was dropped the knife and ran."

"And you chased after him? Was it a man?"

"Yes, I chased the person. I don't know if it was a man or a woman. I guess I assumed it was a man, but now I'm not so sure."

"How was he dressed?"

"All in black. Shoes, pants, top. Maybe some sort of hat or a hooded sweatshirt? It all happened so fast. I never saw his face."

He nodded. "You didn't hesitate? Just ran out and chased after him? You didn't worry about whether he might have had a weapon?"

"It didn't occur to me."

"But later," he said, his voice dropping, growing gentle, "you were scared." I didn't say anything. I was reliving the moment when I came back up on the deck and saw the knife. Dom put his warm hand over mine and held it there. "You were sensible to be scared. People who come in the night with knives are scary." It was very reassuring to have his hand there. He went on in the same gentle voice. "I wish I knew what was going on, so I could tell you how to be safe, but I don't. The best I can offer is be careful. And don't take chances. Use your alarm. Leave your outside lights on. Arrive and leave when your neighbors are arriving and leaving. No late night arrivals or departures. Chances are good it was just a burglar. Harris said there's been one, up there. All the same, don't take chances."

I wondered why Harris hadn't told me about the burglar. "If this were an Agatha Christie novel, we could assume they all did it," I said, trying to shake off my fear and lighten things up.

"Did what?"

"Killed Helene."

"Who is they?"

"Well, let's see. The stranger who was seen lurking in the bushes. There was one, wasn't there?" He nodded. "The husband of one of Helene's patients who was furious that his wife had found the courage to resist his absolute control. A jealous colleague angered by Helene's success. A clinical student she supervised who's been nursing a grudge. A bitter former client. Cliff and Rowan. Eve. One of Helene's lovers. The wife of one of Helene's lovers. Have I left anyone out? The housekeeper who has been nursing a secret passion for Cliff, or a grudge against Helene, for years. And Mrs. Coffey, for the same reasons."

The waitress came and refilled our cups, giving our clasped hands a disapproving look. "It's okay, Sally," he said. "Rosie doesn't mind." Sally gave a sniff and stalked away. He shook his head. "Now it'll be all over town that I was here holding hands with a gorgeous young woman." He tipped his wrist and checked his watch. "Sometime in the next half hour, Rosie will get a phone call."

"I'm sorry," I said, reluctantly pulling my hand back. Despite our verbal battles, I liked Dom, and I felt very safe with him.

"Hey, don't be," he said, "she knows I'm faithful, and that's what counts. Besides, a world's not worth much where you can't comfort a person who's scared because someone might get the wrong idea."

"Thanks. It was comforting. You'll check up on Valeria?"

"I will. And you be careful, you hear? Don't take chances. And just in case these things are connected, don't talk to anyone else, no matter what your friend Eve wants."

The man had spent enough time with me to know better than to tell me what to do. Besides, now that he'd prodded me into considering Valeria as a possibility, I didn't feel so threatened. It was so like something she would do but a few questions from the police would scare her off. We paid the check and he walked me out to my car.

At the car he paused, dropped his hands firmly onto my shoulders, and leaned into my face. "I meant it, Thea. Don't go flying around playing girl detective, okay? This is serious business." He saw as soon as he'd said it that he'd said the wrong thing. He could probably feel my resistance surging right up through his fingers. "I blew it, didn't I?" he said, maintaining a firm grip.

I nodded. "But if it's Valeria, it's got nothing to do with Helene's murder, so why shouldn't I talk to people? I'm just doing it to placate Eve. Besides, you told me to."

"And now I'm telling you not to. What if it's
not
Valeria?"

But I was content with the Valeria solution, and already moving on to the next item on my agenda. He stood a minute, hands in place, as though he was trying to bring me to his way of thinking through sheer force of will, but it wasn't working. Finally he dropped his hands and turned to go. There was a stoop in his shoulders that I knew was my fault. He had enough to worry about without adding me to his list. "Okay, Dom, you win," I said, "I'll back off. Let me know what you learn about Valeria, will you?"

"Of course," he said, walking away.

I realized I'd forgotten to tell him about the phone call. "Wait," I called. "There's something else. I had a phone call at the office today. My secretary, Sarah, took the call. The caller said last night wasn't the end, it was the beginning." The relief that had been on his face at my capitulation vanished, replaced by a look composed of astonishment and worry. He probably thought I was the biggest damn fool on the East Coast, forgetting to mention a threat like that.

"Is there someone you can stay with?" he asked.

There was only Suzanne and she didn't need a guest right now. "I'll be okay," I said. "You can call Harris and tell him to keep an eye on me."

"That's not good enough. I don't think you understand how serious..."

"There's nowhere I can go. I'll just have to be careful."

He shrugged, a disgusted, resigned gesture, and walked away.

 

 

 

Chapter 18

 

Roddy brought us two glasses of flavored mineral water, carefully handing the first one to Cliff, then hesitating with mine and finally setting it down on the desk as far from me as possible. Cliff noticed, and a flash of irritation crossed his face, but he said nothing. When the door had shut behind him, I was unable to control myself. "Why do you put up with him? He's a dreadful person. He's nasty to everyone but you. He creates a terrible public impression."

He looked at me sadly. "I think you're judging him too harshly. Public relations are such a small part of what he does. He's an excellent secretary. Superb typist. Very familiar with psychiatric jargon. He never makes a mistake. Maintains impeccable files and can always put his hands on whatever I need. Makes my appointments flow smoothly, and is zealous at guarding me from intrusions. Absolutely discreet. Reliable...."

"You make him sound like the poster boy for National Secretaries Week. To me he's been rude, insolent, uncooperative. Kept me waiting for no reason..." He was looking at me like I was the one who was out of order.

"I'm afraid it's because you're a friend of Eve's. Roddy and Eve don't exactly see eye-to-eye, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"I'd say he doesn't see eye-to-eye with Dr. Ansel, either."

"No, you're right about that, too. Roddy is a bit jealous where I'm concerned."

A bit? It was strange to find Cliff with blinders on, but on this subject that was definitely the case. It looked like he had no comprehension of how offensive his secretary's behavior was. It was both illuminating and discouraging. How could I work with Cliff to make Bartlett Hill more successful in selling itself if he couldn't see even the very obvious problems that were right in front of him. I said as much to him.

He sighed. "I see you're not going to let me get away with being evasive or obtuse. The fact is that you're right about Roddy. He's extremely difficult and I tolerate a lot from him that people think I shouldn't, but if you knew where he came from and how much progress he's made, I think you'd be more understanding. He comes from a terrible family, had an unbelievable childhood— every imaginable kind of abuse. It's a miracle that he's a functioning adult. It's all a matter of perspective, I guess. You're measuring him against some societal norm and deciding that he fails; I'm measuring him against the expectations for someone with his dysfunctional background, and find him a tremendous success."

I started to say something, but he held up a hand to stop me. "Don't misunderstand me, Thea. I know he's a liability sometimes. I know that he's difficult, particularly with women. I am not naive nor am I blind to it. Believe me, we're working on it, but if I were to fire him, it would be like kicking him in the teeth. Like telling him that any belief he had that he was a worthwhile person was wrong. You understand what I'm saying?"

I did. Cliff was giving me a new perspective on Roddy. Still, the consultant in me hoped I wasn't going to have to deal with a whole institution full of people with Cliff's brand of altruism, if indeed it was altruism and not just the ego gratification that comes from a successful project. It would be a personal challenge beyond the limits of my ambition to try and market an institution with functional clinicians and a primarily dysfunctional support staff. I had a brief vision of it. "Why, yes, Mrs. Kozak, my secretary spends an hour a day cowering in the closet, but otherwise she's a fabulous employee. Why, yes, Mrs. Kozak, our telephone operator is sometimes verbally abusive, but we're working on her medication. Why, yes, Mrs. Kozak, the janitor talks to himself, but his conversations are most erudite." I'm just a hard case, I guess. It might be great social policy, but it wouldn't be easy to market.